A Twenty Minutes poem.
Missed the Point
You see the grocery store
full of hurried people
moving in patterns that cannot be
deciphered or predicted.
You see anxious faces.
You see hands clutching lists dragging children who are
snappish and sweating in their winter coats.
You see check-out line-standers
behind overfull carts of food
You see peeved expressions
punctuated by threatening mutters
here and there
but it doesn’t come to anything.
Seven o’clock the night
before the holiday dinner tomorrow
the idea being to give thanks and
the children’s clothes still have to be washed
and the pie made. That’s what you see.